


where the lovelight gleams

by mjonesing (klassmartin)



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: But also it's for Seek and I'm me so..., Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Good Friend Ned Leeds, Hanukkah, May Parker needs some tissues and more sparkling wine please and thank you, Michelle Jones is a Good Mom, Michelle Jones is a Little Shit, Minor Angst, Mutual Pining, Okay lets see how many wishlist things I have achieved, Peter Parker is a Good Dad, Peter Parker is a Little Shit, Probably a happy ending, Slice of Life, both just complete disaster babies really, canon nudged to the left, meet again after high school, very gently
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:54:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28294878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klassmartin/pseuds/mjonesing
Summary: “No offence, but your cousins are exhausting.”She opens her mouth to make some kind of a dry comment, except what comes out instead is, “Are you in love with me?”------Or: Peter and MJ on the eight nights of Hanukkah.
Relationships: Michelle Jones/Peter Parker
Comments: 20
Kudos: 44
Collections: Spideychelle Secret Santa - 2k20





	where the lovelight gleams

**Author's Note:**

  * For [seekrest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seekrest/gifts).



> AH! HAPPY HOLIDAYS TO MY SECRET SANTA, SEEK!
> 
> And everyone. But this one is a special one for her.
> 
> I do not honestly know how I kept this a secret for three months but here we are! Finally! I'm so excited and grateful to the wonderful spidermanhomecomeme who organised this awesome event. You are one in a million and I appreciate you so much <3
> 
> And Seek! First off, hi :) Second of all; I really hope you like this! I've done my absolute best to tailor this to your wishlist and what I know you to enjoy, so I hope I've done well. Full disclosure; I do not know a lot about the Jewish faith, but have read probably every article going on the meaning and traditions of Hanukkah. Hopefully I have managed to treat this with all the respect and honour it deserves, and if anyone has any feedback on that, it would be gratefully appreciated as I write the next parts! It will become more of a focus as the story progresses, and I look forward to exploring what I've learned.
> 
> Thanks to all in advance for reading this, and I hope you all have a wonderful end of this absolute hellscape of a year. Here's to better things in 2021!

**ONE**

Michelle glares at the departures board with enough heat to melt every snowflake that has dared to ruin her plans. 

“So how long have you been living in the city?”

She doesn’t turn her glare on him - it hadn’t been that effective the first two times he tried to make conversation, since clearly the effects wear off - and instead keeps her gaze carefully on the long column of words that tell her she’s trapped. 

The silence presses heavily down on them until she forces out, “A while.”

The last thing she needs today is being stuck at the airport with Peter Parker, her ex… something. An ex-maybe; an ex-almost. Nothing official was ever given to whatever was beginning to bloom between them. A little more than friends, a little less than lovers; they never did make it to that first date, not after his life fell apart. 

It’s been six years since they’ve seen each other, four since they spoke last. They never meant to fall out of touch, but they’re in their mid-twenties now. They grew up. Sometimes, despite your best intentions, people just fall through the cracks of life. 

“I’ve only been here a few months,” Peter continues, like she’d asked, slouching back in his seat with fidgety fingers hiding in the space between his legs. “It seems nice here, though. More peaceful than New York.”

The snowstorm billows outside the glass walls that surround them, the chill fighting to break through into the expansive waiting area. She turns to watch it, trying to count the flurries as they fall to the runway, like the quantity will ease her sour mood. Why did she have to be so punctual? If only she’d lingered at home another half hour. At least she’d be snowed in somewhere she’s comfortable, with a bed and a shower and a TV with her backlog of Forensic Files. 

“It’s less expensive as well, of course. Makes it easier to find a place, and there’s a nice park two blocks away, opposite the bakery with those cute little muffins. Do you know it? Begins with a J, I think.”

“I’ve heard of it,” she says through a sigh, reluctantly shifting herself so she’s not twisted away from him. 

“Do you live nearby? I can’t believe we haven’t bumped into each other before. It’s taken months and some inconvenient weather to bring us back together.”

She scoffs, crossing her arms. “It’s more than just inconvenient.”

“Why? Are you missing out on some big plans?” She shoots him a look and he nods. “Ah, so that’s still a thing.”

“Every year.”

“I thought you’d be happy for the excuse to miss it.”

“As much as I dislike the Jones’ Pre-Christmas Extravaganza, my life will be far worse having not attended; trust me.” When Peter continues to stare, she explains, “My cousin Georgio missed it for a work party back in ‘09 and was basically shunned from the family.”

“Your excuse seems far more credible.”

“Grandma Jones will not see it that way.” She affects her best imitation of her Grandma’s deep, husky voice. “‘I told you not to get the afternoon flight, Michelle. Should have checked the weather reports, Michelle. Why didn’t you just fly home yesterday, Michelle?’”

Peter chuckles. “That was a pretty good impression of her.”

Michelle tries to push away the awkward memories of dragging Peter and Ned along one year, hoping for a buffer from the unending questions about her first year at college, only for Peter to be swept away by the youngest generation of the Jones family while Ned did his best to save him, leaving her alone for the taking by an innumerable amount of branches from her extended family tree. 

Instead, she says, “She has been my Grandma for twenty six years.”

Peter fidgets in his chair. “Please don’t mention our ages.”

“Twenty six isn’t old.”

“It is when you think about how we graduated high school eight years ago.”

“Oh, so I shouldn’t mention that we should be entering our thirties right now?”

“MJ,” he gasps, and her shoulders shake with a silent laugh she can’t hold back. “Oh, I see, so it only takes me having a quarter-life crisis to make you laugh? Noted.”

“You should remember how hilarious I find your anguish.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” His smile softens. “I guess some things never change.”

***

“Snap! Ha!” Michelle swoops in to grab the pile of cards from the seat between them. She adds them to her collection, nearly the whole deck in her hands. “For a guy with super reflexes, you sure are terrible at this game.”

“I can pull it back,” he says, full of a bravado that does not reach his face. “I’m not losing to you for a third time.”

“Oh, Parker.” Michelle finishes tidying her cards and looks up through her eyelashes, smirking. “That last turkey sandwich is  _ mine _ .”

“Bring it, Jones.”

***

Michelle Jones is not stupid. She knows a lot about a lot of things, and despite how long it’s been, she knows enough about Peter to know when he’s being weird.

What she doesn’t understand is  _ why _ he’s being weird.

She glances up from the phone he holds between them, turning to see him already looking at her. “Can I help you?”

Peter smiles, resituating the earbud from the old pair they’re sharing, found deep in the bottom of her backpack. He’s leaning towards her slightly to stop the cord stretching too far, and his arm is slung over the back of her seat - carefully, never making contact with her - so she sees the way he chews on his bottom lip shyly, how his eyelids flutter as he hesitates, the way his adam’s apple jumps when he swallows thickly around words that don’t seem ready to be spoken.

“I’m fine, just uh… You have an eyelash.” Peter’s fingertips are brushing against her cheek before she can even comprehend the softness in his voice. His dark eyes make her immobile, stuck to her chair to watch the way he gives a little half-smile and then closes his eyes before blowing softly on the lash, his sharp gaze watching it drift away.

“You’re such a weirdo,” she jokes, but it sounds wrong and suddenly she’s sixteen again, awkward and unsure and with no idea of how to act around Peter Parker.

“Nah, just feeling sentimental,” he says with a secret smile. Before she can ask he’s turned back to the movie, a finger tangled in the excess cord not unlike the mess of her heartbeat inside her chest.

***

The setting sun hidden behind the billowing of the snow casts them in a peaceful white glow, a make-shift blanket made from two oversized scarves pulled from Michelle’s carry on draped across them as they take turns throwing peanuts into their mouths. Peter catches every one, of course, but he grins like an eight year old boy each time anyway. Michelle has considerably less luck, a small mess developing in their laps. 

His phone buzzes from his pocket, putting a pause to their latest game and casual conversation about things she’s already forgotten. 

“Hey May!” Peter says to the screen. “You’ll never guess who I found at the airport.”

When he turns the phone towards her, May is already grinning and waving in a way that definitely means she already knew, but it makes Michelle feel warm all the same. She looks exactly the same as the last time she saw her, an arm wrapped around Michelle’s shoulder as she made sure the younger woman had a ride home from Peter’s 19th birthday party. 

May leans closer to the camera, a smattering of grey hairs shining in her living room light. “Wow, MJ, what a beautiful woman you are - isn’t she beautiful, Peter?”

He’s already looking at her when she turns to him bashfully, his expression soft as he shrugs a shoulder and says, “Eh, she’s alright.”

She can’t help the grin that lights up her face, turning back to May to hide the heat in her cheeks. “The brain isn’t doing too bad either - I got my PhD last year.”

“Of course you did.” May sounds awed, the same way her Mom sounds after doing the rounds at the Christmas party, boasting about her daughter being a Doctor. “You look happy, MJ. That’s what makes you beautiful.”

Michelle presses her lips together against the swell of emotion in her chest - blushing under all the praise but also a sadness, for missing out on time with May after everything they went through together, for not trying harder with either of the Parkers, for the moments the pair are missing out on, stuck in this airport for the start of the holidays. 

The feeling overwhelms her when May carries them to the dining room table and Peter begins to recite the blessing as May lights the first candle of the menorah with the shamash. May’s warm smile is as bright as the flame, her presence reaching across the miles between them and erasing the cold, metallic frigidity of their surroundings and bringing them into a home that has always been full of love and light and life. 

Michelle curls up a little closer, tucking the scarf over her socked feet, and revels in the little piece of home. 

Something grazes the side of her hand, warm and calloused. Peter’s little finger wraps around hers with a confidence he hadn’t had all those years before, young and naive and shying away from the adult notion of love. 

It’s something that, in another life, they might have learnt together. 

Instead they’re here, a decade later, because of chance or something a little more profound - Peter will take this as a sign, she’s sure, but Michelle isn’t sixteen anymore. She’s not the nineteen year old that last saw Peter, either. She’s grown and changed and has a whole new life that Peter knows nothing about. 

It is sentiment that causes her finger to return the grasp. Nothing more. 

***

She stirs an unknown number of hours later, her pillow warm beneath her cheek, to hear a quiet familiar voice and another of a friendly stranger. 

“Are you sure, Mr Parker?” the mystery voice says. “This might be the last flight heading to New York until tomorrow afternoon.”

“Yeah, I’m sure, thank you for the offer. I just, I want to see where this goes.”

Michelle feels the soothing stroke of someone’s hand over her hair, her curiosity losing to draw of sleep. 

* * *

**TWO**

“How do I look?” Peter brushes imaginary lint from the front of his woolen coat, glancing down to check his buttons for the hundredth time. “Is my tie straight? It feels wonky. I can’t believe you let me ruin my shoes by wearing them on the subway!”

“Peter, dude, you’re being weird.” Ned is squinting one eye at him, which is, in Michelle’s opinion, a bit of a cheek, considering Ned’s nervous babble over the best knot for a tie that went on for the entirety of the journey out here.

He didn’t even conclude the oral essay with a definitive answer, which is the worst part. Michelle was almost interested.

“I hate you both. Get it together, please.” Michelle runs her tongue over her teeth - she’s wearing  _ lipstick _ , and she’s paranoid - and makes a note to thank the universe for her lapse in concentration that means she hasn’t rung the doorbell yet. She does it now, pointedly, glaring as Ned wrings the handles of his wine gift bag and Peter appears to just stop functioning.

Is he breathing? It’s too late to check.

“Michelle!” her Grandma sings as she throws open the large blue front door, the decadent wreath clanging against the frosted glass. “My goodness, dear, look how you’ve grown.”

“I stopped growing ten years ago, Grandma,” Michelle reminds her as she steps into the arms that await her. “And you saw me last month for Thanksgiving.”

“Yet you look so much more mature. That or I’m shrinking.” Grandma Jones - Macy to her friends - chuckles in that wheezy way that betrays her old smoking habit from the eighties and nineties. “Oh, and you bought friends! My, my, you two really  _ have  _ grown since I last saw you.”

Macy somehow manages to wrap them both in a hug while also straightening Peter’s tie, which earns Michelle a vicious stare that says,  _ I told you so!  _ and,  _ I should never have come here _ at the same time.

“Peter, you look very handsome,” Macy enthuses as she pulls back to correct an errand curl. “Remind me later, I need that super strength to help move my dresser.”

“Of course, Mrs Jones; you just say the word and I’m there.”

“Peter’s not here to help you do housework, Grandma,” Michelle says with a sigh, but she is ignored in favour of the boy at her side.

“Ned, my dear! Thank you for the card.”

“You are so welcome, Macy.” Ned glances smugly to his best friend, who harrumphs in a silent tantrum at not being loved enough to reach first name status. Ned holds out the gift bag and says, “I bought your favourite!”

Macy clutches her hands to her chest. “You truly are one in a million. Michelle, how have you not snatched this one up yet?”

“Ned is very happily committed to his girlfriend, Grandma,” Michelle says monotonously. “Can we come inside now?”

“Yes, yes.” Macy beckons them inside, wrapping an arm around Ned as she leads him through the foyer. “Do tell me, Ned. How is that beautiful girlfriend of yours?”

Michelle drags Peter in by his jacket sleeve, casting a cursory glance around the room enough to note that the colour scheme for this year’s decorations is a shining white mixed with a daring shade of royal blue. Peter’s far more concerned with the floor to ceiling decadence, staring up and allowing her to guide him through the thirty or so people that hover in the entrance hall. She doesn’t know most of them, but a standard nod to acknowledge their presence is a sure-fire way to be noticed without having to engage in the idle small talk she specifically bought her friends to stave off.

She’d feel a little bad if it weren’t such a genius plan; Ned, the friendliest guy alive, and Peter, the man to be marveled over. Surely no one can remember to ask after her marriage prospects and career path with such a pair by her side.

Alas, with Ned snatched away by her Grandma and Peter disappearing in a tidal wave of the youngest generation of the Jones’ clan, Michelle is left defenseless and thus liable to the concerns of her great many Aunts and Uncles.

It takes two hours -  _ Two. Hours. _ \- to escape from Aunt Josephine’s prying questions into her dating life, mainly down to cousin Will knocking over a tray of champagne glasses. She can feel her Grandma’s rage even from three rooms away, and she makes a hasty exit towards the back yard on the blind assumption that at least one of her buffers will be there.

Both are there, it turns out; Peter out of his rented suit jacket to play touch football with some of the kids, and Ned laughing into a near empty glass of something amber as he films his best friend getting tackled by three eight year olds.

“Send me a copy of that,” she says as she loops an arm around his shoulders, watching the looped clip on his phone screen.

“Already done!” Ned pockets the device and wraps an arm around her waist, handing her the last dregs of his drink that she swallows down in one. “Thanks for bringing us here, MJ. And for coming back to us. It’s been nice, getting to know you again.”

“Aw. Thanks, nerd.” She nudges his hip with her own and melts a little further into his hold.

“I mean it, MJ.” Ned looks up to her with a serious expression, sincerity flowing from his every word in a way that makes her skin itch. “I really missed having you around these last few years - who else is ever going to understand my obscure foreign film references? The answer is no one, before you butt in. I looked, believe me.”

“Why do you think it’s cool to make someone cry at a holiday party?” Michelle rubs at her nose with the back of her hand. “Clearly I’ve drunk too much of Uncle Lucas’ eggnog.”

Ned turns away to give her the privacy she so desperately craves, pretending to take great interest in their friend demonstrating the best way to spin the dreidel he’d so nervously fidgeted with on the ride over. 

“I’m not the only one, you know.”

Michelle’s mouth downturns at the overly wise timbre to his voice. “What do you mean?”

“I’m not the only one that missed having you around.” Ned waves to Peter sitting on the makeshift pitch like a parent at a little league game. “He was different, after everything went down; but ever since you guys spent last Christmas Eve together… He’s different again. More himself. Like he’s finally found a part of himself that he thought he’d lost forever.” 

He’s strolling away from her before she can gather her scattered thoughts, leaving her gawking and trembling with the sudden chill, the lone bystander to the car wreck he just made of her life.

***

An hour later she emerges from her self-imposed, temporary exile.

“There you are, darling!” Macy wraps an arm around her waist and fixes her hair, her gaze warm with love and sherry. “Your mother has been looking everywhere for you. Were you hiding in the library again?”

Michelle huffs, swatting away the hand that begins to fiddle with her collar. “Grandma,  _ stop _ . I’m not a kid anymore.”

“Coulda had me fooled,” Macy says with a knowing glint to her dark eyes. “Is this about the boy?”

“I’m not saying it again; Ned and I are just -”

“Not Ned.” Macy waves away her argument, ushering her to a quieter corner of the foyer. “I’m talking about the lovesick puppy who’s been searching for his owner since you squirreled yourself away.”

Michelle blinks before going to rub the confusion from her sight, only stopping when she remembers the ridiculous amount of time she spent on her eyeliner earlier. “You’re not making any sense.”

“Stop lying to your Grandma. You know exactly what I mean.”

But she’s barely listening, every capable brain cell focused on the person who’s just walked into the room. He looks almost miserable despite his best friend engaging him enthusiastically in conversation, the top button of his shirt undone and his tie crooked in a way that would send her Grandma into a violent rage. He’s cradling what looks suspiciously like apple juice in a whisky glass that he swirls absently around into an impossible whirlpool.

“Oh,” she breathes.

“There it is,” Macy says smugly.

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure.”

Michelle wrinkles her nose. “Really? Peter?”

“Not my first choice either, but Ned really does seem smitten with that girlfriend of his.” Macy pats her lovingly on the back, following her eyes to where Peter is now grinning, waving at her granddaughter with as much gusto as a three year old left alone with cake. “Go get him, tiger.”

But something cold and tight grips her courage in a chokehold, and instead of walking toward her friends, she turns on her heel and makes another break for it.

***

If people could just stop making her have emotional breakthroughs in the middle of a party that boasts her entire extended family, that’d be great.

How is she supposed to deal with this in a way that doesn’t end in a deadly dose of mortification?

***

Peter finds her.

She gets a good seven minutes of thinking time, at the very least. 

“Hey, MJ.” Peter lingers in the doorway, tracing over a knot in the wood of the door. “You up for company?”

She finds herself welcoming him in, a move that should confuse her after the panic she’d found herself in just moments before; except she hadn’t been, not really. It had been a shock, yes, but after a minute away from the chaos of the party she’d realised that the concept of something romantic growing between the two wasn’t particularly a surprise; it actually made sense. Not just because of their past, but because, perhaps, this is a path she embarked on knowingly - that their second chance was for more than just a quiet friendship, but for what was ripped from their grasps at the tender age of seventeen.

It’s been ten years. A whole decade of life and love and loss.

But Peter’s still looking at her like she hung the moon and created the stars, and it still makes something in her melt like snow versus his summer sun smile. 

She comes to the revelation so loudly in her head that it’s a wonder he can’t hear from the threshold, still waiting for her indication. 

“You… Yeah,” are the only words she can manage. 

Peter’s across the room in seconds, falling into the empty space of the love seat and closing his eyes against the heat of the open fire in front of them. His skin glows in the firelight, painted pretty shades of gold, and when he turns to gift her a soft smile, the riches continue in the sparkling flecks of his irises. 

“No offence, but your cousins are exhausting.”

She opens her mouth to make some kind of a dry comment, except what comes out instead is, “Are you in love with me?”

There’s an unbearable silence as Peter digests her words, now sitting ramrod straight with cheeks both flushed and drained of all colour. 

It doesn’t last long, barely enough time for the fire to crackle a couple of times, but it feels like a lifetime. 

Then his eyes stop searching hers and he relaxes into a gooey smile, one that is warmer than the fire can possibly make her, and he says, “Yeah. I really am.”

“Okay.” She goes to chew on her thumbnail before remembering the time her mom had spent yesterday carefully painting them a glittering red. “Good. That’s… good.”

“Good.” 

Peter leans back to relax in his seat once more. Like the conversation is over. Like they hadn’t just shared a monumental moment that will alter the course of their relationship - their  _ lives _ \- forever. 

And she grins, because she knows now;

“I’m in love with you too, for what it’s worth.”

How could she not be? 

It’s always been him, even when they weren’t together. Even when they spent years apart. Even when she was too young to understand. 

She loved who he once was, loves who he is now, and will love who he becomes. 

Michelle loves Peter. Peter loves Michelle. 

It’s the simplest thing in all of existence. 

Peter’s eyes spring open, but he doesn’t seem surprised at the confession. Maybe he suspected, maybe he even knew for certain. Like he’s known this was inevitable. 

Damn, does she hate that breathtakingly adorable smile. 

Of course he has to make it even worse, threading their fingers together and whispering, “It’s worth everything.”

She’ll probably have to murder him for that. 

Once she’s done kissing him. 

***

She walks him to his old front door, feeling that same thrill from holding his hand like she had a decade ago, walking through the airport towards all the possibilities of a world at Peter’s side. 

Life had been particularly cruel back then, but she isn’t scared of what it could do to their second chance. 

Not when his fingers fit so effortlessly between hers. 

“So,” he says as they come to a stop, “What now?”

“I don’t know,” she admits, and then, “Maybe we could try that first date again?”

“We could. Or I could do you one better.” Peter edges closer, cupping his hand around her mouth to whisper, “I have an in with the curator.”

“I remember, I was at the ribbon cutting ceremony last month.” She rolls her eyes at his self amusement. “You know, one day people are going to realise that knowing Spiderman is not that impressive.”

“And when that day comes, we will pay for our museum tour tickets the normal way.” Peter laughs. “Besides, you’re biased. You’ve known me the whole time; it was never going to be enough to impress you.”

“That’s true. I’ve always known how much of a disaster you are in and out of the suit.” Michelle presses her lips together so her expression cannot betray her.

He sees through it anyway, slipping the hand not held in hers around the gentle swell of her hip. “What a pity that you’re so attracted to human disasters.”

“Attracted?” She scoffs, badly, as his palm finds a home on her lower back and steals her next exhale. “I said I was in love with you; never mentioned you being attractive.”

“Oh, really?” Peter’s pressed up against her now, his smouldering gaze trapping her in place. “So you won’t feel anything if I do this?”

He leans in, detouring at the last second to press his lips to her cheek. Her eyelids flutter closed with the warmth that radiates from him, but she confidently manages to say, “Nope.”

He drags his lips down to her jaw, kissing her once, twice, until he’s followed the bone up to her ear. His breath tickles over her skin. “What about now?”

“N-Nothing.” 

“What if I touch you here?” His hand slips back around until it’s trailing the neckline of her shirt, fingers gliding lazily like he isn’t burning her up from the inside out. He mouths down her neck and her head tilts to give him better access, knees trembling with anticipation. Only when he speaks again does she remember to play the game. “Still nothing?”

Who is this flirtatious man that stands before her? It’s a side to Peter she’s never had the privilege to see before, and has spent her whole life not knowing exists. How has she gone so long believing Peter is all boyish smiles and terrible puns?

“Nothing. I feel nothing.”

She feels  _ everything _ .

“Maybe if I…” He kisses a path back up, pausing briefly to graze his teeth over her pulse point, and then his nose skims against hers and she feels his impatient exhale brush against her lips, and this is it, the moment she’s been waiting for -

And then May throws open the front door with a delighted scream, a phone in one hand and a dough covered spoon in the other, and throws her arms around the two of them. 

“Finally! You’re together!” She kisses them both on the forehead, one after the other. “I’m so happy for you two!”

“Hi, May,” Michelle manages to get out through the chokehold she’s still tangled in. 

“How do you already know? We haven’t told anyone!” Peter gently pries them both free, pausing to think aloud. “Apart from Ned, I suppose, but… wait, did Ned  _ call  _ you?!”

***

They drink the sparkling wine that May thrusts into their hands after dragging them inside, gathering in the living room to toast to their forty minute long relationship. 

May rushes out of the room for refills, so Peter steps into her space and whispers, “I’ve been waiting ten years to kiss you again. I won’t wait any longer.”

He tastes like the bubbles of their drink and her Uncle Luca’s eggnog, and the promise of all that is to come. 

And when they break apart to protest May taking their photo, he looks back to her with a dazzling smile, two flickers of candlelight reflecting in his eyes, and she returns his unspoken vow with one of her own. 

**Author's Note:**

> Story title is from I'll be Home for Christmas by Bing Crosby, chapter title from In The Bleak Midwinter.
> 
> @mjonesing on Tumblr as always


End file.
